“I love a man in uniform,” the woman purred.
“What do you say I show Mrs. Claus my North Pole?” the mall Santa responded with a lustful look.
“It must be your lucky day,” she said, pulling him into the changing room in the bowels of the Yonkers Mall. The man was all smiles … until he ran into a three-hundred-pound brick wall.
“It really is your lucky day,” the large man boomed. “Because I’m gonna relieve you of your duties, Santa.”
The man looked perplexed. “Hey, you’re Justin Duma.”
He then accepted double the pay he would have received for spending his day bouncing little kids on his knee and granting bullshit wishes that he couldn’t deliver on, and was on his way. Not that he had much of a choice.
Duma looked at Wintry with a smile. “Mrs. Claus is lookin’ good. I guess two hundred is the new thirty.”
“Why don’t you save the charm for the kids, Santa. Speaking of which, you’re gonna be late.”
He stepped toward her, the gray wig and the granny glasses strangely a turn on. “I think Mrs. Claus should give Santa a little something for Christmas. He gets tired of being the one who’s doing all the giving.”
Her face wasn’t exactly screaming ‘come hither.’ “It’s Miss Claus to you … I don’t see no ring on this finger, Santa.”
He smiled. “I told you, baby, the reindeer will get jealous.”
“All I’m saying is it might get real cold up at the North Pole.” She patted his midsection. “Good thing you got that big Santa-belly.”
Since Santa was all knowing, he knew this wasn’t going to work out well for him, so he finished putting on his red uniform and itchy beard, and they headed out on their reconnaissance mission.
“You got the list?” Duma asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Can you just double check?”
She reached into her purse with annoyance and pulled out the folder. It had all the Kerstman families listed alphabetically, including all the pertinent information and pictures. She handed it to him.
“This is good … really organized,” he said, leafing through it.
“You sound surprised. Do you think it’s a coincidence that Temple of Duma’s has gone to another level since you put me in charge of the talent?”
He continued to review the file as they walked. “I weep for these Kerstman people. I guess they had to downgrade from a Mercedes to a Honda Accord.”
“Not everybody who worked there was rich.”
“But they weren’t poor, either.”
“I forgot—Justin Duma grew up dirt poor so now everybody else has to feel his pain. You’re not suffering unless he says so.”
“Hey, life ain’t fair—do you think they’d be having all these fund raisers for these Kerstman kids if it was a bunch of black families from Newark?”
“I have no idea. All I know is I feel sorry for these people. It’s not just the money—every night in the club I meet rich guys who’re poor, just like I’ve met people with no money who’re rich. They’ve had their lives ripped away—they probably will never trust anyone or anything ever again.”
“Yet they’re about to have their kid sit on the lap of a total stranger, completely clueless that he’s been tracking them. Talk about naïve.”
Wintry shook her head with disgust, which meant the conversation was over.
They reached the festive center of the mall, where a line of eager children and their parents had already formed to see Santa Claus. Flyers had been mailed to all former Kerstman employees, offering them a hundred dollar voucher to be used in the mall if they stopped by to see Santa. It said the gift was courtesy of the Yonkers Mall, but the vouchers were really purchased by Kris Collins, with hopes of getting some needed information. If they were as poverty-stricken as Wintry made them out to be, it would be a good showing—Duma knew that a hundred bucks was like a million when you’ve got no money.
They put their spat aside for business purposes, and worked out a system in which Wintry would signal that a Kerstman kid was approaching by removing her granny glasses.
He played his part with ho-ho-hos and belly laughs. He was able to extract the necessary information, all while keeping his identity hidden and the line moving—although one five-year-old informed him that Santa wasn’t black, which caused his embarrassed mother to spend five minutes apologizing, slowing things down.
After promising another child an Xbox—did any of these kids ever leave the house?—a little girl marched toward him like she had important business with Santa. Wintry removed her glasses.
The girl took a seat on his lap. “Hello, Santa.”
“Ho, ho, ho … Merry Christmas! And what’s your name?”
“You’re Santa—I thought you knew everything?”
He glanced in Wintry’s direction. She looked like she wanted to hang him out to dry, but played nice, holding up the folder for him to see. “Santa knows that you are Susie Woods, six years old, from Harrison, New York.”
“We actually live in our car now. My mom and dad tell us to keep it a secret, so maybe nobody told you.”
The response took Duma back to when he was her age. He lived with his mother and five siblings in a Caprice Classic. But it wasn’t a car that you could drive. It had been stolen, stripped, and left to die by the side of the street in their neighborhood. And like most things that were left to die in Oakland, it had a few bullet holes in it.
“I have a secret for you, Susie,” he whispered. “When I was your age I lived in a car, too.”
“Why didn’t you live in your sleigh?”
“That’s a good question—you’re very smart. So what does such a smart girl want for Christmas this year?”
“Can I ask for gifts for more people than just me?”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “It never hurts to ask.”
“Then for my mom and dad, I want them to get their wallets back.”
“What happened to their wallets?”
“We were robbed last night. But the guy seemed nice, so I think if Santa asked him to give them back, he would.”
“If he doesn’t, then he’ll be on Santa’s naughty list … and nobody wants that, ho, ho, ho.”
“Santa knows all about being on the naughty list,” Wintry muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
“And for me, I’d like a house to live in,” Susie continued. “If you could get us our old one back that would be my first choice. But if not, I’d take one with a yard with tall trees in it. I love climbing trees! And a big chimney, so that you can fit down it with your big belly.”
He patted his gut and let out a laugh. “You don’t mess around with the small stuff, do ya? Were you a good girl this year? You’d have to be a really good girl to get a house.”
“I thought you had a list that told you stuff like that?” She pointed at Wintry. “Maybe your helper can tell you.”
Wintry played along, browsing through the file. “Let me see … oh, here it is, Susie Woods. Yes for sure, Susie is on the good list. Let me just double check … yep, good list it is.”
“Sounds like you’re in business this year, Susie,” Santa said.
She let out a huge sigh of relief. “Phew … I was worried that I might not get my wish this year.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Because you made my wish come true last year. I didn’t know if it was fair to get it two years in a row.”
“What did I bring you last year?”
She looked skeptically at him.
“Santa’s getting a little old … and forgetful. Maybe you can help him out, Susie,” Wintry said.
“I asked you to make my brother’s cancer go away, and you did. I thought you’d remember that—it was kinda a big deal.”
Duma felt a lump form in his throat, and fought back a tear. He gathered himself, and said, “Thank you visiting me today, Susie … Merry Christmas to you.”
She looked up at him with optimistic eyes. “It will be if you bring me that house!”